


Empty Spaces

by dancinbutterfly



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: Crueltide, M/M, Porn With Plot, Yuletide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-19
Updated: 2014-12-19
Packaged: 2018-03-02 04:25:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2799497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancinbutterfly/pseuds/dancinbutterfly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are so many empty spaces and so many ugly ways to fill them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Empty Spaces

**Author's Note:**

  * For [valderys](https://archiveofourown.org/users/valderys/gifts).



> Thank you to S for the beta.

It’s been awhile since Red had his hands inside another man. It’s — well, frankly it’s quite refreshing. Ressler is as enthusiastic a lover as he’s ever had, for someone who’s never been with a man before. His blood had been warm and wet on Red’s fingers, though not like the slick on his fingers is now. 

That day in the Post Office, he’d been reminded of a dozen other dying boys, stretched out over the span of thirty years. _Relationships change_ , he’d told the younger man as he’d staunched the wound. _Oh how they change._

This happened to be a new part of their little truce, an added piece to their mutual understanding. Red knows what it’s like to feel hollow, what it’s like to be willing to do anything to feel full again, because the inside of your chest feels like it’s been carved out by a melon baller. That’s where Ressler is now, the poor boy. He took the high road and more’s the pity for it. 

Still, this little liaison of theirs changes nothing between them. They still have their roles to play — criminal extraordinaire; FBI agent — but once their layers have been pulled back and they’re left bare, they’re simply two men who’ve lost people they love the most. 

The main difference between them is that Red is lucky enough to still have people left. 

Just outside the door stands Dembe, who understands; he’s always known what sort of man Red is. They’ve seen each other at their lowest lows and have come to accept each other as they are not, as they wish to be. When Dembe is in his arms, things go a certain way. Dembe’s fine, settled — Ressler is his own beast, one bloodied and needing in all the ways Dembe hasn’t required in decades. 

Of course, lack of need doesn’t supersede desire. Red loves the surprise a gentle hand still manages to garner from Dembe, so he continues to use one. Love enters nowhere into the equation with Ressler and as such, neither does that level of care.

Red twitches his fingers, causing Ressler to let out a tortured shout. Everything about him is tortured as of late, but this especially. Pleasure for him is _especially_ painful. 

“Lovely little spot isn’t it?” he asks, grinding his knuckle against Ressler’s prostate. Red has come to find that he rather likes watching him squirm. 

Watching the pained emotions play out across Ressler’s face, Red decides that Ressler must be exquisite as he cries. He wants to see it, hear it, taste the salt as it slides down Ressler’s cheeks . Red can’t even recall the last time he himself cried. _Again_ , he thinks, _how wonderfully refreshing_. He can’t help but wonder at how he got so old, so quickly. 

“You know,” Red muses, speaking mostly to himself, “The prostate is something of a minor miracle. I mean, nature already gave us all these nerve endings,” he strokes Ressler’s cock once, then twice, for emphasis. “Yet still, it gave us another, albeit only for those of us brave enough to seek it out. It’s as if our own bodies are daring us to be bold. Are you feeling bold, Donald?” He presses hard against the gland, causing Ressler to choke out a few heartbreaking sobs. It’s a sweet sound. He wonders if the boy ever made noises like that when he was in bed with his late fiancé. He sincerely hopes so. The best sex always goes hand in hand with shameless noises. 

“I’m afraid I didn’t catch that.”

“Yes,” Ressler chokes out, sweat shining on his skin, catching the low lighting of the hotel room. His skin is positively glistening. Red wishes he had a camera. It wouldn’t do him justice, but it would still be quite the scene, one that Red wouldn’t mind capturing for posterity. 

“Yes can mean so many things. In this instance, I’d hazard a guess that you’d like me to fuck you. Am I right, Donald?”

He clenches his teeth so hard his jaw ticks. It makes Red smile. He loves it when they fight what they want. Few things are as much fun as a challenge. Red makes a show of working his wrist like a metronome as he waits for Ressler’s response. 

“You know, I once knew a whore in Karachi who could take four cocks at once?” Red recalls. “He was quite beautiful — although I doubt he still is, not with the amount of heroin his pimps had him on — but the point remains: he never faked it. He was always hard. It was amazing. You’re just as hard as he was, Donald, and just as beautiful. You’re just waiting to be filled, aren’t you? All those empty places inside, places where it hurts, where it’s raw; you want them soothed. Don’t you?”

Ressler’s response comes in the form of a whisper. “Yes.”

“Spread your legs,” Red murmurs, and they part for him like automatic doors, easy and without hesitation. He slides his dripping hand out and lines his hard cock up to take its recently vacated place. He doesn’t even remember when he actually put the condom on himself. The whole night’s been building up for this, and Red is more than ready for it. 

Red’s silent as he pushes in. He wants to hear every wretched noise Ressler makes and _oh_ , the boy doesn’t disappoint. He hiccups and gasps, moaning when Red is fully seated inside him, his eyes squeezed shut. Red considers for a moment forcing him to open them, saying that he won’t move otherwise, but he decides to give the poor bastard some semblance of kindness. He knows how it is, the need to hide in your own mind in order to fully embrace the sex that you need. 

Red will give Ressler this, he proves to be enthusiastic once he gets going. He rolls his hips and digs his short fingernails into Red’s shoulders, drags them over Red’s scalp a shade too hard. His heels dig into Red’s lower back, adding a wonderfully aching pressure that serves as a counterpoint to the slick, sweet slide around Red’s cock.

Is it the best sex he’s ever had? Of course not. He’s not a young man anymore, and this young man means very little to him in the grand scheme of things, but it’s good, and in the way that pizza is good, satisfactory in satiating an impulsive desire. He genuinely feels something, watching Ressler’s face contort and twist, his eyes tearing up in a way that has nothing to do with the burn of being spread open and everything to do with reliving the feeling of watching the love of your life bleed out in your arms. 

Red kisses his forehead as he reached down to stroke Ressler’s cock hard and fast — with a vengeance, one could say. “Come now, Donald. Enough is enough.” And like any good soldier, he follows orders that are given to him. 

The clench of Ressler’s orgasm sends Red over the edge. It’s good, but not enough that Red feels any need to close his eyes. He pulls out when the shaking subsides and rolls away, watching as Ressler practically leaps out of the bed. 

_Run if you like_ , Red thinks, watching Ressler pull on his clothes at a near frantic pace, _you won’t get away from yourself_.


End file.
